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ODE 

FOR    TIIK 

DEDICATION    OF    THE    BUNKER    HILL 
TABLETS. 


i. 

Under  the  golden  dome  where  laws  are  made, 
The  stones  yet  stand  that  once  around  the  base 
Rose,  of  the  ancient  column  in  that  place ; 

And  on  those  graven  tablets  is  displayed 
A  record  of  the  mighty  train 

Of  great  events  that,  following  fast 
Through  seven  long  years  of    watchings  and  fears, 

Throes,  and  unutterable  strain, 
In  God's  ripe  season  led  at  last 
Our  land  to  glory  through  that  vale  of  tears. 

n. 
And  this,  moreover,  the  stones  have  said : 

While  from  this  eminence  you  survey 
Scenes  of  luxury,  gardens  of  wealth, 
Homes  of  laborious  industry  and  health, 

Tilth  and  orchard,  uplands,  plain, 

And  clovered  meadows  reaching  far  away, 

With  halls  of  learning  hid  in  elmy  bowers 
Your  supereminent  domain  ! 

Whate'er  of  republics  may  have  been 

Spoken  aforetime,  the  imputed  sin 

Of  thanklessness  must  not  be  ours. 


in. 

From  the  golden  dome  where  laws  are  made 
There  went  a  mandate  forth  : 
On  yonder  hallowed  mount  to  the  north 
Let  the  best  men  in  building  skilled 
A  tower  of  rocks  to  the  high  heavens  build, 
To  stand  at  once  a  monument  and  shrine, 
A  pillar,  in  everlasting  sign, 
Like  that  which  Hercules  of  yore 
Set  on  the  Gaditanian  shore, 
( Vying  to  tyrants,  Come  no  more ! 
And  the  fire  in  the  cresset  that  flamed  of  old, 
IVaroning  the  mariners  up  Boston  bay, 


Shall  burn  forever  from  this  new  tower, 
Like  a  ruling  star  of  benignant  ray 

For  every  people  to  behold,  — 
A  watch-fire  in  the  purple  west, 
Steadfast  and  strong,  for  all  the  oppressed 

To  fly  to  from  tyrannic  power. 

IV. 

New  England's  air  was  never  tainted  long 
With  any  tyranny ;  the  prairie- winds 
Breathed  from  the  illimitable  West 
Into  those  English  hearts  and  minds 

A  new-born  sense  of  space  that  made  more  strong 
A  vigour  chafed  for  centuries  by  the   sea, 
And  for  high  ventures  nerved  each  daring  breast. 

Our  Fathers  always  had  been  free. 
Those  men  who  Freedom's  battle  fought, 

Holding  all  kings  but  One  in  scorn, 
Though  with  a  mighty  price  they  bought 

Your  freedom,  were  free  born  ; 
And  Carolina's  and  Virginia's  blood 
Tempered  to  like  disdain  of  shackled  thought, 
Beat  with  one  pulse,  when  Liberty's  glad  morn 
Alike  to  North  and  South  broke  o'er  the  Atlantic  flood 

v. 

Why  should  the  Muse  on  dreadful  details  dwell, 

To  make  a  calendar  of  her  lyre? 
Is  it  a  story  of  no  renown  — 
The  redoubt,  the  frigates,  the  blazing  town, 

Fronting  the  Falcon's  fire  ; 
How  the  regulars  rushed  and  the  yeomen  fell, 
Butts  and  bayonets  plying  as  well ; 

Rolled  and  trod  in  the  crimson  mire 
Of  the  dust  and  blood  beneath? 

Close  quarters  then  !  for  a  captain  cries,  — 
As  the  troops  maiched  up,  —  "Let  them  come  nigher ! 

Hold  till  you  mark  the  whites  of  their  eyes, 
And  the  gleam  of  their  British  teeth." 

Ah  !  many  felt,  as  the  bullets  flew, 

We  fight  for  Englishmen  in  fighting  you. 

VI. 

On  from  that  dread  to  this  triumphal  June, 
And  now  while  natures  are  all  in  tune, 
That  children  hereafter  may  come  to  spell 
Prescott  and  Warren  and  all  who  fell, 
Hard  by,  on  that  bitter  afternoon, 


Bearing  on  History's  page  so  proud  a  part, 
We  hang  these  bronzes  on  our  country's  heart. 

Not  for  the  splendour  of  the  fight, 

Not  for  the  number  of  the  slain, 

Not  for  the  day's  defeat  and  flight, 

But  for  the  final  crowning  of  the  right, 

And  mankind's  measureless  gain. 

This  other  commonwealth  of  kings, 

Born  here  on  Bunker's  height, 
Have  fluttered  their  flag  of  stars, 

Like  a  labarum  of  light, 

Beyond   the  Tiber,    by   Peter's  throne, 
Beyond  the  hill  of  Mars, 

As  those  elder  freemen,  through  every  zone 

Carried  their  eagles  on  outspread  wings 
And  blazoned    S.  P.  Q.  Rs. 

VII. 

Say  then,  O  poet !  when  sages 

Shall  anew  the  tale  relate, 
Not  for  a  thousand  ages 

Wasva  little  battle  so  great; 
Yea,    write,   besides,   on  your  pages, 

With  an  adamantine   pen, 
Not  for  a  million  ages 

May  such  battle  be  fought  again. 

VIII. 

Remembering  what  our  statesman  said, 
"  That  the  blood  of  your  fathers  may  not  have  been  shed 

For  humankind  in  vain,"  * 
Up  with  your  tablets  to  grace  the  dead! 
And  while  you  hang  them,  let  great  London  hear 
Little  Boston's  exultations ; 
Let  all  nations  far  and  near ; 
Let  sacred  Italy  and  Spain, 
Norway,  Denmark,  and  the  men 
We  love  in  Germany,  and  France 
Rejoice  at  this  day's  doings.     Then 
"  Advance  ye  future  generations"  * 
And  lead  the  world's  advance  ! 

T.   W.  PARSONS. 

*  "Words   of  Webster. 


M280886 


ode 


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